Seconds, Moments
by kasviel
Summary: Just a few tidbit off-camera slash scenes I've written from season two, a sort of mini-sequel to my previous POI story. CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR SEASON TWO UP TO EPISODE FIFTEEN. SLASH (Male/male romance) and spanking. Thank you for reading!


**Author's Notes**

Last year, I was completely absorbed by CBS' then-new cyber-procedural, "Person of Interest". I absorbed the entire first season, and during the season break withdrawal, I wrote a story that paired the two protagonists, Harold Finch and John Reese (I call the couple "Reech", which just goes to show my ineptitude at making up couple-shipping names). I really enjoy the couple, due to the close bond that grew between them over the course of season one, and it was great writing them.

This year, I have been keeping up with season two religiously, and I have to say that the show just gets better and better. It's exciting, intriguing, and the relationship between Finch and Reese has grown as their characters do. The writing is just great on this series. If you have not watched season one, and especially season two, please stop now and go watch! **This story contains spoilers for season two of Person of Interest up to episode fifteen**.

I am getting an early start on my fan fiction this season, because I miss writing this couple. This is a very short one-shot detailing some moments I've written "between the scenes" of the canon. It is in the format of a few short stories that all connect. To keep the timeline clear, I used the episode production number, title, and the date (usually the episode air date coincides with the date the canon events take place on). These scenes always take place _after_ the events of the listed canon episode, usually on the same date except for the last one which takes place after "One Percent" and before "Booked Solid". The stories are in order, meaning they follow the canon timeline, even if they do jump from episode to episode a bit. The stories are numbered "2._" because this is my second "Person of Interest" story in general, and each short story is the number behind the decimal in order.

The very last story is a bit of a joke that I could not resist after the "One Percent" episode. As for Reese being with others beside Finch, well … I never established an open relationship in my stories, but the canon has Reese sleeping with Zoe, so I'm supposing if they would be a couple, they would _have to be _an open one, so as not to totally unbalance the canon (since this story is not Alternate Universe). Yes! I know! "Interlopers" is what I think whenever Reese is with someone besides Finch, but this is just fan fiction, they are not a canon couple (as much as they sometimes appear to be), and it's all in fun. If you don't want to see Reese sleep with a _man _other than Finch, however, yes, ah, do not read the last story. There is my usual (largely absent in these shorts) spanking, though, so if you like that kind of thing (and didn't Logan Pierce just beg for it, after all?) …

Wow, it has been a while since I have posted anything up here. I have chronic writers' block, and for that I apologize. I wish I could properly formulate and then write all the crazy ideas that slosh around my brain, because I love writing and I love fandom. I read every feedback I get, thank you so much for your reviews and just for reading my stories. It's been a long time, and my experience writing fan fiction is literally one of the best in my life. So, thanks, and here's to more slash in 2013!

First story of 2013, by the way, Happy New Year!

* * *

2.1

2J7202 [ BAD CODE ]

2012/04/10

One day is the equivalent of twenty-four hours. That is one thousand, four hundred and forty minutes, which in turn is comprised of eighty-six thousand, four hundred seconds. Some days feel like one long morning, or afternoon, or night. Other days feel as if they are made of more than a million moments. That is because human beings do not process time in numbers, as machines do. Yet, they do not process time in abstract instinct and reaction, as animals do. The human perspective is utterly unique, and it is that perspective that can warp just a single one of those many units of time into an eternal memory of perfect joy … or complete desolation.

Harold Finch pondered this evolutionary quirk (or was it a flaw?) as he stared his reflection down in the bathroom mirror. He had winced away from John Reese's careful guidance and help, escaped in here to find the comfort of solitude, but he knew he did not have much time to gather his thoughts. He had never seen Reese so protective before, and it startled him.

It _frightened _him.

There was a knock at the door. John's voice called in tentatively, "Finch?"

Finch shut his eyes, a shiver running through him. Just that morning, he had never expected to hear that voice again. He called back, struggling to keep his voice steady, "Just a minute, John."

Though he had just showered, Finch splashed cold water on his face from the sink. He let it seep in, then dried his face and finished dressing. He finally set his glasses on his face, drew a deep breath, and left the bathroom.

_It's surreal, _Finch thought as he met John right outside the bathroom. His professional and personal partner gave him a reassuring little smile, and put a hand on his shoulder, leading him to another floor of the library. He had been guiding Finch physically in this manner since they had started for home; Finch wondered if Reese would ever let go of him again. Then, he wondered if he ever _wanted _Reese to let go of him again.

"I ordered food while you were in the shower," Reese said.

"I'm not very hungry, Mr. Reese."

Reese's grip on his shoulder tightened slightly. "You must be starving. Just have a little. Come on. Come eat."

Finch swallowed. He wanted the pity and softness gone from Reese's tone. He wanted everything to go back to the way it had been before Root had kidnapped and nearly killed him. He knew Reese meant well, but he could not stand being treated like a victim. It was horrible to look into another's eyes and see all the pain you had gone through reflected in their sympathy.

Reese had cleared one of the library's many desks, and set out a meal. The gentle glow of candlelight lit the otherwise dim old building. Finch raised his eyebrows, looking at Reese in surprise. Reese smiled and kissed him then, for the first time since the rescue. It was such a tender touch that it sent a painful pang through Finch's heart. He shut his eyes, wishing to remain in this one moment forever.

John pulled out just slightly, their foreheads still touching. He murmured to Finch as he stroked his face, "You're home now, Finch. You're safe and you're home and it's over. I won't let anyone take you away from home again."

Finch felt himself losing his emotional control. "Oh John." His hands unconsciously gripped at the man's shirt, moved up around his neck. He sank into Reese weakly, tears at last falling from his eyes. "John … "

John smiled in relief. He had feared that Finch would shut down after this latest trauma, go so far into himself that he would never let himself be human again. He felt sorry for the man, but he was grateful to see that he could still allow himself to _need_.

"Shh, sh, it's okay, Harold," John hushed him, stroking his back soothingly. He moved with him to a sofa, and sat with the man in his arms. "You're home now. You're home. You're home with me, Finch."

John removed his glasses and set them aside. For many moments, he held him there in the quiet of the old library. The candles burned down and the food grew cold. Finch cried very quietly, but with a deep bitterness that John could feel.

A pitch black rage rekindled itself in John's heart as he listened to his lover sob and held him as he trembled. He promised himself that if he ever got the chance, he would kill Root. If anyone got in his way, he would kill them, as well. If there was a price to be paid, then he would pay it. He was helpless to do anything about this scar she had left on Finch's mind, so the least he could do was avenge it.

"I was wrong, Harold."

Finch sniffled, wiping his eyes. He looked up at John, exhausted from crying. "What?"

"I was so intent on making you feel, feel anything: love, misery, even anger," John said. "Last year, I was so hard on you, Finch. I told you that love was supposed to hurt. I even struck you to shock you, _force _you, out of your shell. I was determined to make all your walls come down, and I'm sorry."

Finch shook his head. "I don't understand. Are you saying that you're sorry for making me love you?"

"No." John sat up straighter, held Finch more closely. "I'm sorry that I told you that. I was wrong, Finch. It doesn't always have to hurt. It doesn't have to be this difficult. I should have realized that. I should have tried harder for you, to protect you—"

"Mr. Reese, I didn't _want_ to be protected," Finch said. He lowered his gaze. "Perhaps … Perhaps that was _my_ mistake. I am capable, but I'm not you, John. And as much as I want to help, if I had just accepted your protection, if I had just stayed put when you told me, if I had … if I had just … "

"It doesn't matter now."

"Yes it does." Finch met his eyes. "Because all I want right now is to feel safe, and that just makes me realize how much I took your protection for granted. I took _you_ for granted, John."

John kissed his forehead and began to dry his eyes with his sleeve. "You probably just thought I was being overbearing. Hell, Finch, sometimes I thought I was being overbearing. I … I almost didn't recognize myself, playing the overprotective … "

"Daddy figure," Finch suggested, smiling a little.

"If that's what you want to call it." John gave Finch his glasses to put back on. "But I only wanted to keep you safe. You never think of yourself much. I don't know how you see yourself, Harold, but I do know you didn't realize how special you are, how precious. I always did, and so I always knew the kind of target you could become. You see that now, don't you?"

Finch nodded ruefully. "Yes." He was holding John's hand in both of his own. " … I won't … I'll listen to you, John. I'll obey your orders."

John smiled, but he wondered. If his life were in danger, would Harold _really _just sit back and let him take his chances? And if he was needed on the field, would he _really_ abstain from rising to the occasion?

Despite his doubts, John ran a hand through Finch's hair, spiky from the water of his shower still. "Thank you, Finch. Now. Let's have dinner, shall we?"

"I'm really not hungry."

John sniffed a soft laugh. "What was that you just said about following orders?" He stood and pulled Finch to his feet by the hand. "Come on, Harold."

Finch sighed, but was too tired to resist. Truth be told, he was famished. Reese watched him eat in silence for a time, only picking at his own food.

"You know, I finally understand you, Finch," John said after his third glass of wine. He stood to fetch a bottle of something stronger. "When we connected last year, I was so desperate for it that I could not see your side of it. I wondered why, _how_, you could not want the same thing, if you felt the same way?"

Finch blushed. "Yes. I certainly remember your frustration," he said, reminded of exactly how Reese had _demonstrated_ his frustration: by throwing him over and spanking him thoroughly.

Reese managed not to look amused, but Finch saw the struggle.

"But now I understand what you must have felt, because it is terrifying," John said. He poured himself a glass of whiskey and drank from it deeply. " … Finch, I have been in so many life-or-death situations. I have been in nightmares I could never even tell you, gone through things I never even let myself remember. I don't say this much, but I have been scared before: terrified. Yet … I can honestly say that this day has been the most frightening day of my life."

Finch stared at him, light blue eyes wide behind his glasses.

"People like me, that do the things I do, we don't face our own deaths like normal people," Reese continued. "There is fear, but we shut down. Even until the very last moment, we're still in that mode of combat, still looking for any way out. We are trained and conditioned to find that last hope and fight for it."

Reese paused to take another drink. Finch waited in his silent, patient way.

"So, even when I face my own death, I don't see my life flashing before my eyes," John said. "I don't face my regrets of what was and what might have been. I don't feel the loss of self that a civilian would feel."

John reached across the table and took Finch's hand in his own. Finch's heart skipped a beat. John often held him, caressed him, but these tiny gestures of intimacy were not his usual. Finch gripped his hand tightly, his eyes searching the deep sorrows in John's.

"But when I lost you, I felt it," John admitted. His eyes glistened. "I felt that I was losing everything."

Finch's mouth opened slightly. After a moment, he whispered, "John, I don't—I don't think I'm your entire life."

"But you are," John said. "I know you left me access to the Machine to give me a purpose, a reason to carry on even if you were gone, but … Honestly, I couldn't even think about going on without you. Perhaps it was partly my survival instinct, trying to look for a way out of losing you for as long as possible. If I had lost you, I … I don't know if I could have gone on. I might have, for your sake, but nothing would have been the same. I am living a life now, Finch, and that is the one thing I could not do without you."

"I think you could," Finch said with a small smile. "I believe in you, John. I never would have left you the Machine if I didn't."

"The purpose might have still remained, but the point of it would have … " John paused. He stood and moved his chair beside Finch's, sat again, all without relinquishing the man's pale hand. "We need this. We need it together. I would do it for myself, and for the world, but I would miss doing it for you. Do you understand?"

"The reason behind the reason we do this: for each other," Finch said with a sad smile. He looked into the flickering candle flames, their glow reflected in his glasses and painting them orange in the corners. "Our ghost in the machine."

Finch sighed, shaking his head, and slipped his hand from Reese's. "It's selfish, Mr. Reese," he said quietly. "It's a selfish reason."

"We're not entitled to a little selfishness, Finch?"

"Selfishness can be dangerous," Finch said. "Once we lose sight of our higher purposes, it becomes easy to be totally absorbed in our own agendas. Before long, it will be those personal objectives that take precedence."

"Come on, Finch, we both know better than that," Reese assured him. "We've made too many mistakes to be that careless."

"Emotions are insidious," Finch said quietly. "They can guide us without our even realizing it."

"You don't think they already are?" Reese poked through Finch's food and ate a bite of something. "Hm? All I did to save you, when you tried to give me every reason to simply move on alone? The things you've done for me over the past year?"

A sudden spark of emotion lit Finch's usually cool eyes. "No, you're right," he said softly. He turned on his chair to face Reese. "You are absolutely right, Mr. Reese. That's what makes us human."

Reese gave him a quizzical look. "Are you actually saying that you prefer to be human, Mr. Finch?"

Finch smiled, almost grinned. "I am."

Reese gave a soft, one-note laugh. "That's a change."

"You changed me." Finch stood and put his hands on Reese's shoulders. "And thank goodness for that. Thank God for you, Mr. Reese."

"Do you even believe in—"

Finch leaned down as best he could and brought his lips to Reese's. "It doesn't matter," he murmured through the kiss. "I believe in you."

Reese stood, taking him into his arms, and kissed him deeply. He blew out the candles and left the food. In the bedroom Finch kept in the old library, they undressed, and settled into bed. Finch was amorous, but Reese only held him to his chest as he so often did, knowing he must be exhausted. Surely enough, Finch was asleep in seconds.

Reese smiled, kissing his forehead. He had felt a deep, gnawing certainty just a day ago. He had felt sure that he would never see Finch again. He had believed in the darkest corner of his heart that Finch and the Machine, his new purpose, his second chance, had all been a dream. At times, he had felt that his life had really ended on that rooftop in China, and the following had been a foolish, desperate dream: the last twinkle of the dying star of his hopes.

_But none of it was a dream, _Reese thought. _It wasn't a fool's paradise. Finch is here. He's real and he's right here. He found me and he saved me. And when the time came, I had the ability to save him. _

_Now it's over and it's begun again. It's as simple as that._

* * *

2.2

2J7203 [ MASQUERADE ]

2012/18/10

The time ticked by, counted in glasses of wine. Reese waited, amused by the steady rhythm of Bear's panting breaths. Utensils scraped and clanged. Otherwise, there was silence.

"When I said we could get a beer—"

"You said it didn't have to be beer," Finch interjected.

"I meant we could go somewhere."

"With … him?" Finch gave the German Shepard a curious glance. He still found the added presence confounding. Curiously, he tossed a piece of steak to him. The dog caught it in mid-air and wolfed it down. The corners of Finch's mouth twitched upwards briefly.

"Finch," Reese sighed in exasperation, leaning forward over the table. "You know this wasn't about the beverage or the location. We have to talk."

Finch studiously carved his meat.

"Harold," Reese said in his warning tone. "I'm not going to let this go."

"Let _what _go, Mr. Reese?"

"You know what."

" … "

"Are you going to do this again, Finch?" Reese asked. "Shut down, hide in yourself? Are you afraid, or just plain proud?"

Finch frowned. "None of those things, Mr. Reese. I simply don't want to talk about it." He took a rather long sip of wine. "What do you want me to say? That it was the most harrowing experience of my life? That I … I was forced to look into an … an _evil_ that exists because of _**my**_ Machine?"

"Finch, you have nothing to do with Root's actions," Reese said, stern with concern for his partner. "That woman _is _evil, and insane. She could have, **would have** latched onto any technology, any ideology, to excuse her choices. It's what psychopaths do."

"But it wasn't any technology, it was mine," Finch said softly. His hand shook and he set his utensils down. "If she had succeeded, if anyone like her were ever to use the Machine for such a purpose, to suit such a so-called ideology … "

"It would be a catastrophe," Reese agreed. "And that is why it's good we're here to stop Root, and anyone else like her. We're **here**, Finch. We stopped her, and we'll stop the others. We protect the Machine, and it will protect us."

Finch's eyes widened. "The Machine?"

Reese nodded. "I told you how it helped me find you."

"It … That isn't possible, it … "

"You've used it to save me, and I've used it to save you," Reese said. "I promise you, Finch. I promise you we'll be okay."

"You were never this bold before, Mr. Reese," Finch remarked. "In fact, you can be downright fatalistic. What happened?"

"What happened was that I realized we can't worry about possibilities, good or bad," Reese said. "I came this close to losing my second chance, my last chance, and then I got it back. I got you back. I think we should simply appreciate the moment. We're here, we're alive, and we're doing good. Why look backwards or forwards?"

"Because it's when you're not looking that it happens," Finch said quietly. "That's when it all gets snatched away."

Finch stood and walked in his quick limp to the windows. He stared out at the city, down at all the people passing through the electric lights. "There are so many people, so much … _code_," he said. "The potentiality for anything and everything is right out there realized, acting and reacting, colliding, creating, destroying. We try to calculate our lives, how can we _not_, Mr. Reese? How can we not cling to our faith in _some_ system of caution? Religion, psychology, biology, numerology, all of it, everything, all faiths … all false promises that tell us we can understand and predict what we will do, what others will do to us, what to expect."

Reese came up beside him. "And you lost faith in your own systems?"

"No, I was blinded by my one faith, my faith in the Machine," Finch said. His arms were crossed, and now his hands gripped his elbows tightly. "I was so caught up in its predictions that I forgot about all the other myriad dangers in the world. One problem at a time, save one life at a time: difficult as what we do is, it puts the world into a neat system, it makes sense of the chaos. It was easy to disregard everything else, too easy, and I … I did."

Reese massaged the man's shoulders, wrinkling Finch's crisp white shirt in the process.

"Now, the wool has been pulled off my eyes, and I can't cover them back up," Finch said. "I can't look at the world and fit it back into that simple system the Machine has created. It isn't just one problem at a time, it's tragedy and pain and cruelty everywhere, at every time. And I … It scares me, Mr. Reese. I look at the world, and I'm terrified."

Reese put his arms around Finch from behind, hugging him comfortingly. Finch put a hand on Reese's, his gaze continuing to watch the night-painted city. The sound of traffic was a murmur beneath the hum of the perpetually-operating computers in the room.

"As much as we think we can change things, we can't," Finch said. " … The _root_ of things doesn't change."

"Don't let her words poison you, Finch," Reese told him. "You're better than that."

"I'm different than that, that's all, and I wasn't always," Finch admitted. "You don't know me entirely, Mr. Reese. You respect my past, and I love you for that, but you also must respect the fact that you _don't know _my past. You didn't know me then."

"I know you now."

Finch turned around to look up at Reese. "I _could have been _Root, John," he said, anguish written across his features. "She believes the root of a person, their nature, their 'code', cannot be changed, but I don't believe that. I see how easily circumstance could have warped me into being like her. The wall between chaos and order, sanity and insanity, good and evil, it's so tenuous, Mr. Reese. For all of us."

"What separates all those facets of humanity is _choice_," Reese said. "You chose to do what you do now. You chose to be this person."

Finch gave a small, incredulous laugh.

"What?" Reese asked suspiciously. "What's funny?"

"I told Root the same thing."

"So why have you forgotten that now?"

"I haven't forgotten it," Finch said. He leaned his back to the window, the chill seeping into his skin. " … I suppose what is frightening me so is the fact that I've seen so clearly what happens when people make the wrong choice. When they embrace their wrongs and blame it on their nature. Knowing that at any time out there, they can simply choose to hurt you."

"You're forgetting one thing, Finch." Reese stood before him, holding him by both shoulders and leaning down so their faces were level. "I will always be the one that chooses to save you."

"John … "

Reese kissed him sweetly. "I won't let the world hurt you like that again. So, don't be scared, Finch."

Finch smiled, and embraced him. Reese kissed him again, more intensely. Bear gave them a rather curious look as they stumbled to a sofa, then sniffed and trotted a more uneventful corner of the library.

What Finch did not say was his deeper fear: that Reese would not always be there. He was well aware of the dangers that could take Reese from him at any moment, but it went deeper than that. He expected Reese to not be there for him, by choice or accident, for one simple, brutal reason: he did not deserve him.

_When Root brought me that close to the edge of my own life, I felt something else, something I won't tell John, _Finch thought as they fell onto the cushions of the sofa. Reese's tongue melted down his neck, and he inhaled sharply. _I felt that it was my deserved fate. That was why I decided to leave a contingency plan for John to carry our work on after I was gone, because I expected to be gone someday. I don't deserve this man, I never did, I simply **took** him._

_It was only natural that I lose him. It was almost a relief to lose him now, before … Well. It would have been neat. I would have died his partner, a man he loved and trusted and believed in. I almost … appreciated dying as his Harold Finch._

_Now, I've survived, and all my doubts have returned. My fears. It isn't only the world, John, don't you see that? It's **you**. It's all of it, all of the things I'll never tell you. They make me want to crawl into the cocoon I've made of this place and simply hide from everything._

John crouched over Finch, meticulously unbuttoning his shirt. He gave Finch a brief reassuring smile, before removing Finch's glasses and putting them on an end table. Finch ran his hands over John's bared, strong arms and chest. He admired and envied him at once.

"You won't let me hide, will you, John?"

John seemed to understand his meaning. "No, Harold. I won't let you hide."

"I can be strong because of you," Finch said. He lifted himself up, wincing a bit due to the stiffness his disability sometimes caused him. "I can be strong _for _you."

Reese looked relieved and proud. His lips met Finch's, molding into his mouth in several slow, perfect motions. Finch's arms encircled Reese's neck, his hands moving down his neck and back. He could feel the sinewy motion of his hard muscles as Reese moved to remove his shirt. He felt small and pale and soft in his arms—but he felt protected.

_For as long as I have you, I can do this, _Finch thought, not quite able to say the words aloud. He allowed himself to cling to John a bit, feeling needy and knowing Reese never minded. _I missed this … so much … Even if it doesn't last forever, even if … _

_I'm going to have this as long as I can. I'm going to savor it. _

_And I'm going to do whatever I can to keep it._

* * *

2.3

2J7208 [ 'TIL DEATH ]

2012/29/11

"You're quiet tonight."

Finch rolled over to look at Reese's blurry figure (he was not wearing his glasses). Reese had his arms under his head, and there was a trace of a amusement on his face. Finch studied his handsome features with his bird-like watchfulness for a moment.

Reese laughed. "Do you really have to carefully consider opening up to me every single time I try to decipher your mysterious thoughts?"

"I was considering how you're still conscious enough to try to decipher anything, actually," yawned Finch. "I don't know how you do it, Mr. Reese. Save lives all day, spend half the night with me, and then wake up in the morning and start it all over again."

"Am I running you down, Finch?"

"I think you run anyone you touch down, John."

Reese smirked, and pulled Finch onto his chest. "You're changing the subject."

"I was just thinking of marriage," Finch said quietly. He leaned his head on his hand, the other hand tracing the contours of Reese's chest languidly. "Of partnerships in general, I suppose."

"Oh, Harold, that's sweet," John teased. "Are you proposing to me?"

Finch blushed. "Just as only a fool would pass up being with you, only a fool would try and _marry _you, John."

John chuckled.

"I think you were right, John, when you told me that love has to hurt," Finch mused. "I just wonder how many degrees of pain a love can stand? The Drakes tried to have each other _killed_, and yet … "

"Yet, they'll probably plan their second honeymoon once they get out of handcuffs," Reese said, his tone between scornful and amused. "That's about one hundred degrees of insanity."

"They betrayed everything: loyalty, trust, honesty, respect," Finch went on wonderingly. "Still, in the end, they found each other again."

"For now," Reese said. "I'm not sure something that broken can ever be truly repaired again."

"No?"

Reese shrugged. "Well, it depends on the people, I suppose. How masochistic they are."

"You were never one to mind a masochist."

Reese grinned, giving Finch a spank through the bedsheets. "Is that what you are, Harold?"

Finch turned a deeper shade of pink. "Sometimes I wonder."

Reese sat up against the headboard, rifling through Finch's short brown hair with his fingers. "People hurt each other. In play, in sex, emotionally, physically. People in love tend to hurt each other even more. But there are limits. Everyone has limits." He shrugged. "I guess the Drakes simply have … very few limits."

Finch was quiet again. _I almost told him that I was wondering about Grace._ He met Reese's eyes, though his face gave nothing away. Reese gave him a quizzical frown. _But how can I tell him that I'm thinking of my wife while I lie here in bed with him? He doesn't deserve that. I wish I could let go … _

The humor left Reese's face. "You're wondering if she would forgive you, aren't you?"

Finch sucked in a breath, eyes going rounder than even was usual. He lowered his eyes, looking sad. "You know me better than I ever expected you to by now, Mr. Reese."

"And you still call me 'mister' in bed," Reese remarked. " … It's all right, you know, Finch. We've both lived other lives. You can talk to me about her, or about anything else in your past. It won't hurt me."

"I know that, I just … It hurts _me_, John."

Reese nodded. "I understand."

Finch rested his head back on Reese's chest, counting the seconds by his heartbeats. The library bedroom was drafty this late in the year. He could see snow falling gently through large windows on the other side of the room. Even with Reese, he felt an odd sense of loneliness. They were no more than two of those snowflakes out there, motes created to drift to their ends in the blink of an eye.

Reese felt Finch shiver, and drew the duvet over him.

"It isn't too late, you know," Reese said, though it did hurt him to say the words. He paused, mentally chiding himself for being so selfish and sensitive. "You could go back to her."

"No. I can't."

Reese opened his mouth to argue, but found that he could not. Sadly, selfishly, he squeezed Finch's shoulder. _Then stay with me, _he wanted to say. _Stay with __**me**__, Finch._

"Do you regret it, John?"

John looked down at him. "Regret what?"

"Never marrying."

Reese smiled wistfully. "I wish I could regret it. But I don't."

"Are you sure?"

John's mouth twitched, and the stubborn steel that Finch knew so well hardened his face. "I can't regret it."

Finch rolled onto his back. "I wish I could be as strong as you are."

"You're strong in your way," Reese said. "Besides, I need you a little soft. Something has to temper a soldier's strength. Otherwise … they're nothing but a half-living weapon."

"Easy for you to tell me to be soft," Finch said wearily. "That leaves me to be the one with all the regrets."

"I didn't say that I didn't have regrets," Reese said. "I said that I **can't** regret. You see?"

Finch raised his eyebrows, considering. "Yes. Yes, I think I do."

Reese yawned, and sank down into his pillow. "No looking backwards, Finch. Not any more. Remember?"

"Yes."

Finch settled down beside him, though his gaze moved over Reese to the window again. _Not for more than a moment, anyway._

* * *

2.4

2J7214 [ ONE PERCENT ]

2013/13/02

"Finch, seriously?"

Finch was grinning his crooked grin. "Yes."

John exhaled, removing his coat and slinging it over a chair. "Dog-proofing?"

"I read it on a dog care website," Finch said. He was tottering around the room, moving stacks of books and boxes. "Bear was sick, and do you know how many things in here could have poisoned him? So, I think we should move some things to higher shelves. You know, get anything dangerous out of his way. He's an excellently behaved dog, but any animal can get curious and—"

"I get it, Finch." Reese rolled up his sleeves and came over, petting Bear's head as he did. "How can I help?"

"I would appreciate it if you could just get that box over up—"

A ping sounded through the room. Finch looked in dismay at his computer screen. "Um, one moment please." He dumped a stack of books he had been carrying into Reese's arms and rushed over to the computers.

"Number come in?" Reese asked, unable to keep his voice casual enough to fully mask his eagerness.

"No," Finch said slowly. He typed and clicked the mouse, eyes rapidly traveling the screen. His face grew serious and he slid into his chair. "No, that might be less troubling."

Reese put the books down on a shelf and hurried over. "Is there a problem, Finch?"

"Not exactly a problem, more of an annoyance." Finch sat back in his chair, looking irritated. "Our last number seems to be latched onto us. Or, latched onto _you_ specifically, I suppose."

Reese frowned, looking at the monitor. "Logan Pierce?"

"Yes. I've had an eye on him since he expressed such a dangerous interest in our activities," Finch explained. "We may have thwarted his attempt to track us through your two-million dollar 'gift', but he's not one to be discouraged."

"He always gets what he wants," Reese scoffed. "What is he doing now?"

"He's hacked the FBI, and he's been going through their New York office's files," Finch said. "I hate to tell you this, but he's been particularly interested in their 'Man In A Suit' case."

John rubbed his forehead as if he had a sudden headache. "Damn it. That kid … "

"He's quite taken with you."

"He's just caught up in the excitement of it," Reese scowled. "It's something new and glamorous, another adventure. And he _**wants**_it. He doesn't give up on things he wants easily."

Finch was watching Reese curiously. "Apparently not." He paused, then said, "Perhaps you might have more luck _making _him give up on us."

Reese looked distracted. "And how do you propose I do that?"

"In the way you've been dying to since you met him."

Reese was startled: not an easy thing to accomplish. "What do you mean, Finch?"

Finch smiled a little. "You know what I mean, Mr. Reese."

Reese sat on the edge of the desk, considering. "He could use a little bit of humbling. It might be good for him. It might also finally get me out of his system." He turned to Finch. "Sure you wouldn't mind, Harold?"

"Do I ever mind your distractions?" Finch chuckled softly. "It isn't as if we were _married_."

Reese ruffled Finch's hair. Finch was a little dismayed to realize that it was the exact same gesture he used to pet Bear. Patronizing as it was, it struck Finch as sweet.

Reese stood. "Well. I think I'll pay our former number a little visit, in that case." He went to leave, then stopped. "Would you like to stay posted, Harold?"

Finch blushed. "I—I … Um, well, that would be … "

"Kinky, I know." Reese looked over his shoulder to grin at Finch. "Stay by the computer, Harold. I'll keep you posted."

"Mr. Reese, really!"

Reese left, laughing his subdued chuckle.

* * *

"God! It's freaking QUIET!"

Logan Pierce shouted the words at his empty apartment in contempt, throwing himself on his sofa and leaning his head back over its arm. He stared at the high ceiling in frustration, light eyes uncharacteristically stormy. He scowled in a childish manner.

_He looks like a little boy sulking, _Reese thought. _And soon, he probably will be._

Pierce was unaware of the presence in his home, too wrapped up in his own turmoil to see the shadow in the far corner. He sat up with a burst of energy, yanking his phone from his jeans pocket. He looked through his contacts, scrolling the list up and down. _I'd better call some people over before I keep talking to myself and just become one of those people, _he thought. _Am I thinking to myself? That's the first step._

He lifted his finger over the 'dial' icon, then hesitated. He frowned deeply, confused by his own caution. Sure, his best friend had nearly had him killed (and his lawyer had poisoned him), but he still believed in people. He still _needed _people. He had thrown several parties in succession the day after the ordeal, and attended several more. Then …

Pierce tossed his phone aside onto an end table. He rubbed his face with both hands, and turned the stereo system on loud.

_Into the streets_

_We're coming down_

_We never sleep_

_Never get tired_

_Through urban fields_

_And suburban lights_

Then, he had started hacking government websites on a whim. He doubted that the man and his partner had avoided the law completely in their vigilante actions. You could avoid the internet, but not The Man, right? Anyway, it had been somewhere to start, something to do, and then …

_Turn the crowd up now_

_We'll never back down_

_Shoot down the skyline_

_Watch it on primetime_

_Turn up the love now_

_Listen up now, turn up the love … _

_**Then**_, he had found the 'Man In A Suit' files. It had been like an alien freak finding the real X-Files: nirvana. The moment he had read the reports and descriptions, he had known he had found the man he knew as 'John Wiley'.

It was exactly twenty-four hours later, and Pierce had been in this mood ever since. For the first time in a very long time, he found himself standing still and alone. He had poured over the files over and over. He pondered them. He dug further, tried to find links to the case, tried to find anything he could concerning John.

There was nothing more to find.

_Why am I so obsessed? _Pierce wondered as he poured a drink and wandered to the looming windows. He looked out at the city, most of which lay far below his sky-high apartment. The enormity of New York sunk its claws into him, as it did with any prey captured by their own doubts. It all felt too large to be comprehended, too old to be understood, and too fast to be chased. For the first time, Pierce was stricken by the fear that all his wealth and enjoyment and knowledge were nothing more than a speck of dust in the city's eye.

Not to mention what he was in the scope of the entire world …

_Who's gonna save the world tonight?_

_Who's gonna bring it back to life?_

_We're gonna make it, you and I_

_We're gonna save the world tonight … _

Pierce laughed, shaking his head. _Of course, _he thought in regard to the radio's current song selection. He took a long, bitter swallow of liquor. _Here I am doing absolutely nothing while John and his boss are out saving the world, and I have to listen to this crap. Of course. _

_But hey, at least life hasn't lost its sense of irony. Irony is always fun, right?_

Reese stood still in the shadows, very near the unsuspecting Pierce now. He hesitated for a moment, feeling a little sorry for the kid. Watching him here alone, just an arrogant brat that had found a new toy he could not have, he could not see Pierce as the threat Finch claimed he was. He almost turned and walked out.

_Turn up the crowd now_

_We'll never back down_

_Shoot down the skyline_

_Watch it on primetime_

_Turn up the love now_

_Listen up now, turn up the love_

_Who's gonna save the world tonight?_

_Who's gonna bring it back to life?_

_We're gonna make it, you and … _

"_**I'm**_ going to save the world, bitches," Pierce said to the song with a grin. He raised his glass (to himself, apparently). "And I'll find you, John. Like it or not."

Reese stopped, bristling. He reconsidered, and then swept over until he was behind Pierce. He saw the youth's eyes widen as they fell on his reflection, right before Pierce whipped around.

"Uh—John!" A smile spread over Pierce's face, and he fumbled for the stereo controls to shut it off. "Hey, _you_ found _me_. Crazy. I mean, but not unexpected. You need me, don't you?"

"No, Pierce, I don't need you," Reese said, shaking his head with somewhat insincere sympathy. "That's what I'm here to tell you. That I don't—_we _don't need you."

Pierce's smile fell from his face. Then, anger took its place.

"So you break into my _home_ just to, what?" he asked, all the frustration of the past day boiling to the surface. "Is this supposed to intimidate me? You came here to tell me to back off?"

"Yes, I did, Pierce."

"Well, I'm _not_ going to back off," Pierce said, lifting his head haughtily. He shrugged. "But you know that by now, right? What, is your glasses-chic partner keeping digital tabs on me?" He glanced around his apartment warily. "Did you come in here to bug this place? Because I'll just move. It doesn't matter to me."

Reese watched him expressionlessly. Pierce would never admit it or let it show, but that look intrigued him greatly. He wanted to know what was going through John's mind desperately. He wanted to crack that cool surface, see the _man_ behind it. He wanted to know his story. He wanted to know … _everything_: what he had done before becoming this vigilante character, why he had joined forces with the Well-Dressed Glasses Man (as Pierce had come to think of Finch, whose name he did not know), who they would help next and why … what he ate for breakfast, how much he was paid, what liquor he preferred, who cut his hair (so he could have their career ruined), every petty little thing about the damn enigmatic man.

"I'll keep digging," Pierce insisted, hoping to elicit some telling reaction from John. "You know I will. I can't stand an unsolved puzzle, and I've never come against one I couldn't solve."

John stepped towards him and it took every ounce of Pierce's resolve not to step backward. He had seen that look in John's eyes the night he had saved him by shooting the thug holding him and completely beating down the other. It was not pleasant to have that icy glare directed at himself.

At the same time, Pierce's heart began to race. _I think I'm afraid, _he marveled to himself. _I'm actually afraid of him. And … Shit, it's … it's _**_exciting_**_!_

"Some puzzles have traps inside them," Reese said. "You sure you want to solve this one? There's no reward for you, Pierce, not this time. If you do solve this puzzle, it won't end well for you."

Pierce laughed. "Oh yeah, like you'd kill me after you saved me," he said knowingly. He took a swallow of liquor, and looked like he was thoroughly enjoying himself. "You're a good guy. A hero. I don't know what kind of horrible things you've done to make yourself responsible for the whole city, but I know you won't do them again. You're not going to kill me."

"My partner could destroy you, Pierce." John came up close to Pierce, his breath grazing the fringe of coppery hair that cut across part of his forehead. "Do you know what it would feel like to simply cease existing? You, and every single thing you've ever created on the internet?"

Pierce crossed his arms, looking up at John defiantly. "You expect me to believe that you two would financially cripple every person involved with my companies by erasing them? You see, John." Pierce stepped so close to the man that they could have kissed. "You can't only hurt _me_. I'm not just _me_. I'm Alchementary, and that means I'm Emily Morton, and Ben Kamin, his wife, and everyone else that has invested even a penny in our new company."

Reese smiled, nodding. _Oh, he _**_is _**_asking for it._

"So tell me, John." Pierce sloshed the liquor around in his glass, smiling with an oddly seductive, daring, and slightly manic look on his face. "How can you ruin _me_, when you would ruin all these other nice, innocent people along with me?"

In his steady monotone, John replied simply, "Well, Pierce … like this."

Pierce was shocked when John's hand snapped around his entire wrist like an iron vice. He did not have time to even question the man before he was pulled away from the window. A thrill of fear rushed through him, sending butterflies into his stomach and making his blood hot.

"What are you doing?"

"Answering your challenge, Pierce," John said cheerfully. He glanced over his shoulder at the youth. "I'm going to hurt you without hurting all those other nice, innocent people."

Pierce watched him warily, letting himself be led along. They crossed the sprawling main room to the sofa. Pierce felt a twinge of nostalgia for a few days ago when he had gone into anaphylaxis shock and John had saved him (by breathing into his lungs through a tube, no less). He was confused when John sat on the sofa, as if he were simply going to watch the massive HDTV.

"What, you're going to best my gamer score?" Pierce asked in amusement. "Good luck."

John smiled, and then, with one single pull, yanked Pierce over his knees. The glass of liquor went flying from Pierce's hand, spilling all over the floor and clattering. Pierce gave a shout of surprise. His feet tripped and he ended up falling the rest of the way across John's lap.

"W-whoa."

"You're a smart kid, Pierce," Reese said in that same cheerful tone (which Pierce found creepy). He removed his coat and set it aside neatly. "Can you figure out what comes next?"

It took Pierce a moment to collect his racing thoughts. He gave a laugh, though it lacked some of his usual confidence. "You think a spanking is going to get me to back down? Seriously?"

"You'd be surprised how often juvenile people respond to a little discipline." John briskly pulled down Pierce's plaid-printed pajama pants, and lifted his tee up a few inches. "Have you ever been disciplined, Pierce? Really disciplined?"

"Pfft. I'm the post-child abuse generation, John."

"Not anymore."

Pierce laughed wildly. "I knew I liked you."

_Laugh while you still can, kid, _John thought, pulling down Pierce's loud-printed boxers. _Once he realizes this isn't a game, he'll get it. He's a child that never respected his father, and so he never had a father figure to defer to. Once he **feels** the authority he never had to bend to, all his arrogance will fall away. It always does._

Pierce drew a deep breath, shut his eyes. His nerves were snapping with excitement and that alluring rush of fear. He felt his cheeks heat with blush as his bottom was exposed, all the sensual vulnerability. It was not an alien sensation to him, but he had never felt it so strongly before.

Not wanting to encourage Pierce's sense of fun, John quickly and sternly got to it. He raised a stiff hand and brought it cracking across the youth's buttocks hard. The slap resonated around the quiet, cavernous apartment, leaving a distinct handprint on the kid's fair skin.

"Ah—haha!" Pierce laughed with a gasp. "Ow. Wow, you … you hit pretty hard, John."

John said nothing as he repeated the smack. Pierce began to sober as the sting started to build into a burning heat. He squirmed, trying to look around at John. John turned his head back down toward the floor firmly. Pierce's blush deepened.

"Do you do this—_ow!_—to strangers often, John?"

John refused to make conversation with him, knowing it would be quite easy to be drawn in by the vivacious young man. He could not let him think this was anything more than a punishment. Pierce was the type to take five hundred miles from any given inch.

"I knew you were an interesting guy, but—mmph." Pierce visibly cringed as John's hand slapped smartly over a spot that was already getting sore. He licked his lips and swallowed. "But I had no idea you were so kinky."

John's lips thinned into a line. The kid's bottom was bright, deep red, and he knew he had to be feeling some pain by now. Why didn't he break? Why did he keep _talking_?

_I don't want to really hurt him, _John realized. _He's impossible and bratty and spoiled, but I don't dislike him. I almost admire him, keeping it together this long._

What Reese did not realize was that Pierce was still enjoying himself, in a way. Though he was abashed and humiliated, though his buttocks were throbbing with hot pain, he was exhilarated.

"It's not a game to you, is it, John?" Pierce marveled now. His hands wrapped around Reese's legs through his pants, clutching at him lustfully. He laughed. "You actually take this seriously. You think this is—_ooph, ouch—_You think it's not a game! You know how weird that is?"

Reese spanked him harder.

"Heh. But don't get me wrong, I like it." Pierce managed to look around his shoulder, up at John. His face was moist with sweat from the closeness and his cheeks were flushed, but his eyes still shone with that reckless excitement. "This whole daddy thing is … it's pretty hot."

Reese paused, thrown off by the lascivious grin on the youth's face. He clenched his hand briefly, the palm stinging and warm. "Can't you take anything seriously?" he asked Pierce regretfully. "Do you have to make me really hurt you, kid?"

Pierce swallowed, but he looked intrigued. Reese sighed and pushed him off of his lap. Before Pierce could stand from the floor, Reese pulled him to his feet again. This time, he bent the kid over the arm of the sofa. Pierce hung over it complacently. Reese almost pitied him for once.

"Why do you do this?" Reese asked as he removed his suit jacket and rolled his shirt sleeves up. "Do you enjoy being harmed?"

"I'm not 'harmed'," Pierce scoffed. "Hey, I've been spanked before." He admitted under his breath, "Never this hard, but hey … "

Reese took his belt off and doubled it. "Pierce … the world doesn't work the way you think. You can't just move on through every consequence unscathed the way you think. Even billionaires can be hurt."

"Are you going to _hurt me_, John?" Pierce asked with a laugh. "_Really _hurt—Aaaah!"

Reese mentally recoiled at the first genuine shriek he had heard Pierce utter since the night he almost died. At the same time, he tried not to admit to himself how appealing it was to see him jump with pain. He had expected the spanking, had probably enjoyed it, but Reese doubted a man raised so mildly would enjoy the fierce sting of a belt.

"Oh, that's—" Pierce started, his voice cracking. He drew a shaky breath. "That's _really _kinky. Hard … Mmm! Hardcore."

"Still having fun, Pierce?"

"_Hn_. You … know it," Pierce panted. He was belted again, and he had to struggle to restrain a whimper. The welt flared with pain, and he bit his lip. "Mm."

John delivered the whacks with long intervals between, giving the pain time to set in. _The trick is to give him the fear of a danger he knows he won't enjoy. As long as the danger is unknown, he'll go after it, even if it's death. But showing him exactly what he'll have to endure if he disobeys again will curb him. At least temporarily._

"Oh—Oh! Okay! Whoa, okay, okay!" Pierce finally cried in a strangled sort of tone. He waved an arm, though he did not dare try to stand up or move away. "I can't … _Okay_! I'll … I'll leave you alone. I'll do whatever you want, J—John. Just please, stop."

John wanted to stop, but he knew he had to be stringent with this one. He cracked the unforgiving leather across Pierce's bruised buttocks once more.

"Christ!" Pierce shrieked. "I said, I'll stop! What the hell do you want! I'll be good! I'll behave!" To his alarm, the belt licked fire into his skin again. "_Jesus_! I'll do whatever you want, just stop! Stop! Sto—op."

Pierce's voice cracked into a childish plea, and he sank against the sofa arm. A strained, inarticulate sound escaped his lips and he began to cry. _Finally, _Reese thought.

"You see, you _can _take things seriously," Reese said. He stood Pierce up by the shoulder and pulled his clothes back on. He tipped the youth's glumly sullen, tear-streaked face up to his own. "And all I had to do was whip you."

Pierce stared at him in hurt shock. "You're sick," he said, though he sounded slightly awed.

"Yes, I am," John said simply. "I'm just sick enough to find you and punish you any time you try and break into my life, or my partner's. I am sick enough to go through the trouble of chasing your jet-setting little ass down and beating the daylights out of it any and **every** single time you even _try_. Do you understand?"

"Y—yes."

"Good." John patted his head. "Now be a good boy and let it _go_, Pierce. Let it all go. For your own sake."

Pierce nodded, sniffling. John gave his face a pat and turned from him. He slid his belt back into its loops, fastened it, and headed for his jacket and coat. Pierce suddenly darted around in front of him. John eyed him warily.

"Pierce, you don't want to get in my w—mm!"

Pierce threw himself into John, kissing him in renegade fashion. John was too taken aback to react. His body responded while his mind tried to process the act, meeting the youth's vigor with vicious intensity. He felt his arms encircle Pierce's trim, fit body, rough hands squeezing and stroking the soft, supple skin.

Too quickly, Pierce's hands fussed off Reese's belt again. They tore open his shirt, pausing briefly to touch upon Reese's chest, and then moved down to his fly. Reese fought to regain his self-control, and grabbed Pierce's wrists.

"What's the matter?" Pierce asked through his heavy breathing. The tears had ceased falling, and the excitement had returned. He half-smiled. "Isn't this how you like it? After? Huh? You like your guys all … chastened and contrite? Hm?" He bent his face into the crook of Reese's neck, kissing him, biting his ear. "Am I contrite enough for you, John?"

John sighed wearily, yanked the kid's head back by the hair. "You enjoyed it."

Pierce grinned that devil-may-care grin of his. John tried not to find it intriguingly adorable. What was this kid _thinking_? It was not uncontrollable mental illness, or an affectation of insanity, it was some kind of calculated madness.

Pierce licked his lips. "Every. Last. Whack."

"What is _wrong_ with you?" John murmured, though there was no malice or scorn in his voice now. He smiled, despite himself, and shook Pierce gently by his hair.

"Oh, many things, John," Pierce said, one eye half-shut from cringing at the hand gripping his hair. "Maybe even as many things as are wrong with _you_."

John released him. "I doubt that."

He went to walk away, but Pierce grabbed his arm with both hands. John looked down at him, unable to deny the spark of attraction between them. Pierce pulled himself closer to John, and sidled up against his chest. John was frozen.

"You're not _unhappy_, but you don't let yourself enjoy life," Pierce told the older man. He considered John's hand, decided to suck and kiss at his fingers. "You want me, and I want you. What's the problem?"

John said nothing. He did not want to give the guy any more information concerning himself and Finch. He took his hand from Pierce, pushed him lightly aside, and returned to his clothing. The indomitable youth slung his arms around Reese's neck from behind in an uncanny impression of a stranglehold.

"Is it your partner, the glasses man?" Pierce asked. "I sort of got that 'more than professional partners' partners vibe from you two. That's it, isn't it? Do you spank him, too?"

"Stop it!"

Reese turned, grabbed Pierce, and flung him onto the sofa. Pierce winced as his bottom hit the cushions. Reese caged him with his arms, leaning over him. Pierce eyed him sullenly.

"Playtime is **over**, kid," Reese warned. "Now, you've seen what I can do. You know what I would do to you if I took you to be a real threat."

"But I'm not a real threat. I'm just a curious kid who—"

Reese felt a tinge of guilt, but he slapped the man across the face despite it. This needed to end. "You're an egotistical brat that thinks he can buy his way into anything that sparks his curiosity!" he shouted at him. "You've found me and my life, and now you wonder why you can't just _have_ it! You can't have it because I won't let you have it! Not any part of it! You won't buy your way into _me_!"

"Your boss did!" Pierce cried, holding his cheek. "_He_ bought you to work for him, and he has you now, doesn't he? He has you … and I … I want you." He reached out and grabbed Reese by the front of his shirt. "I _**want** _you! And I know you want me!"

Reese's cold blue gaze swept over the man's face, rested on his lips, looked back into his eyes. The tiny human corner of his calloused heart nagged at him. What would be the harm in one time? What would be the danger of simply giving in? This man was not going to give up, so much was clear. He would keep on searching for Reese, and only Finch's technological wizardry would keep him at arms' length. So, if it would have to be Finch's duty to fend him off, why shouldn't Reese be allowed to enjoy him? And, perhaps giving him what he wanted would quell his curiosity. Perhaps he would get it out of his system and be done with it, move on as he so frequently did.

"We have a connection, so why _can't _I have you?" Pierce asked softly. He held Reese's face in both hands, searching his eyes futilely. "I'll stop searching for you. I'll be good. Or I'll be bad, if you prefer. I'll do whatever you want, be whatever you want. I'll give you anything."

"It doesn't work that way, Pierce."

"Why not?" Pierce insisted. "Why not, if you feel the same way about me?"

Reese said nothing, though he did not move away. He ran a hand over the youth's hair.

"Is it your partner?" Pierce asked. "Are you married or something?"

"No, it isn't F—It isn't about him. Or anyone else."

"So, what?" Pierce asked. "Are you refusing me just to spite me? Is that it?"

Reese had not considered that aspect before, and he could not deny it was somewhere close to the truth. Pierce looked horrified.

"That isn't fair!" he exclaimed angrily. "It's reverse snobbery. You're snobbing me because I'm rich. I can't believe it. That's so … so _petty_."

"It isn't that, Pierce," Reese lied. He sighed, sitting on the sofa next to the kid. He mused that he had thus far saved, spanked, and belted Pierce on this same piece of furniture. "You're looking for that connection, you said it yourself, that one connection that 'works'. I can't be that one for you, Pierce."

"I know," Pierce said, not being entirely honest himself. " … From the moment I saw you, I felt it, though. We do have a … a thing." He had a feeling that John was averse to the word 'connection', and so decided against using it again. "And you saved my life. You can't deny there is something between us, not when we have that."

"You have that," John corrected him. "For me, it was just another day's work."

"Really?" Pierce asked doubtfully. "And you've never slept with just a day's work before?"

" … "

"So why not _me_?" Pierce persisted. "Are you intimidated by a young, rich genius?"

Reese gave a scornful chuckle. "What do _you_ think?"

"No, I don't think you get scared by anything superficial," Pierce said with that knowing that belied his years. "Not looks or money or intelligence, probably not even power. I think what scares you about me is my insistence on indulgence."

"Well, your diet is a nightmare."

Pierce laughed shortly. "Heh. No. I mean, you have that military severity. No frivolities. No excess. Those spartan ways are forced upon most soldiers, but not you, John. You were born for them. It's how you always were, how you'll always be. You don't understand why a man would want a two-million dollar watch, or a helicopter or … the best fried foods in the world."

Pierce swung his legs up onto the sofa and lay back with his head on John's lap. He reached up and traced the man's set face. "You're so serious," he remarked. "Always so serious. You probably never understood what was so great about just being stupid or crazy or reckless. And things that you don't understand bother you, don't they? Especially when they look appealing. Especially when sometimes you almost wish you could just let go and understand them like normal people do. Like civilians do."

"Does this armchair pop psychology routine get you a lot of sex, Pierce?"

Pierce laughed. "I'm desperate. You've made a desperate man of me, John." He pulled himself up to kneel beside John, pouting at him. "You think I'm cute and you think I'm sexy and you want me. That's been enough for most people. But you … I let you spank me, I throw myself at you, I analyze you more accurately than you expected (don't give me that look, you know I was pretty much right about what I said). Anyway, I do all that, and you're still just … just … _looking _at me like that! Damn it!"

Pierce took John's face in his hands again and gave him a hot, sensuous kiss. He straddled his lap and pressed impossibly close into John. John's hands rested on his hips, then slid down to his buttocks. He squeezed him through his pants and boxers, was pleased when he felt Pierce's body flinch. Reese's resolve melted away, and he clutched the youth as a snake embraces its prey. Pierce, fearless brat that he was, crushed against him as if their bodies could merge.

The rest was hard and fast, furiously animal. They somehow made it into the bedroom, a half-geek and Swedish modern affair that Reese found as incomprehensible as its young owner. Pierce was breathless and panting when he was thrown back onto the bed, Reese's mouth scintillating his skin with kisses.

"There's some … " Pierce huffed. " … some lube and—_ahhaa—_stuff … in the … in the … the … " He gestured hastily towards the nightstand, unable to say another word.

Reese flipped him onto his stomach, gave his darkly reddened bottom a pat. He smirked a little at the way Pierce writhed and curled up, overwhelmed by the force of attraction as a teenager might be. It was strange, Reese thought, that he liked his men so vulnerable, while he liked his women so strong.

_I accepted that desire because of Finch, _Reese thought as he finished undressing and set his phone down on the nightstand. He glanced at Pierce. _I wonder what he would think if he knew I was here enjoying him, and still thinking of Finch. He'll find out who I really belong to. But not just yet. Not tonight._

_Tonight, I am going to indulge myself, just a little bit._

* * *

Lying awake some hours later, Reese had second thoughts. He finally admitted to himself that he _liked_ Pierce's spirit, difficult as it made him, and that he appreciated it too much to keep trying to break it. He sat up and stretched his arms, rubbed his face with a hand. He was about to climb out of bed when Pierce's hand shot out and grabbed his arm.

"For someone who accepts that change is inevitable, you certainly do try to hang on for a long time, Pierce."

"I only accept it when it's truly unavoidable," Pierce said with a sleepy smile. He rolled onto his stomach, leaning his face on one fist. "Until then, I'm sure as hell going to fight it. Especially when the present is so good."

John looked back at him.

"Don't _goooo_," Pierce whined, trying to pull John back into bed. "It's just one night. Please? Stay with me. Sleep here with me."

"You can't even help yourself, can you?" John marveled. He pinched Pierce. "You just keep pushing and pushing."

Pierce pouted. "I don't like to be walked out on. Come on. We can spoon until morning. Do you like spooning, John? Who doesn't like spooning, right?"

John let himself be eased back into bed, though he stubbornly informed the kid, "I am **not **going to spoon with you, Pierce."

"No? Oh, I know." Pierce lay over Reese's chest in an uncannily Finch-like way, curling into him. "You like it this way, don't you? That way, you get to lie there all strong and brooding, staring at the ceiling, while your partner just needs you, lies there knowing they're protected by you."

"Pierce?"

"Yeah?"

"You're doing that psychology crap again."

"Turn-off, huh?"

"To put it in a way you'll understand: major turn-off."

Pierce laughed. "Jeez, John, you're just great," he grinned. He yawned and sleepily murmured, "No one says 'major' anymore. Ha … God, that's just gold."

Reese bristled, but Pierce had fallen asleep. John sighed, patting the youth's arm. He glanced at his phone. He whispered, as if in abstract, "What would you think about it, Finch?"

And the voice, somewhat flustered, replied through the speaker in Reese's ear, "I don't think he'll give you up after tonight, Mr. Reese."

Reese prodded Pierce, making certain he was fast asleep.

"Don't think I'll be out of his system?"

"Mr. Reese, I don't think you realize how entangled in a person's system you can get," Finch replied. "I can decrypt and untangle the most sophisticated malware viruses in the world, but I could never even begin to decode or remove you."

"That's sweet, Harold," Reese said cynically. "I'm a computer virus."

"I'm sorry my analogy disappoints you."

"I miss you, Finch," Reese said suddenly. He yawned. "Bad analogies and all."

"Finally met someone that wore _you_ down? Even I must say I'm impressed."

"I never thought I would say this," Reese said as he slumped down onto the pillow and began to fade away, "but I feel old, Finch."

"I don't know," the voyeuristic Finch replied. "I think we're actually quite modern."

Reese chuckled, and shut his eyes. "Goodnight, _Harold_."

Elsewhere in the city, Finch touched the monitor he had watched Reese's entire night with Logan Pierce through. His fingers traced the image of Reese lying in bed with the errant young man. He smiled, wistful though neither jealous nor upset.

"Goodnight, Mr. Reese."

* * *

"Oh. No. No, no, no. You can't go. You just can't. Not now. You just, you can't do it."

Reese gave Pierce an exasperated glare. He had just come from Pierce's immense bathroom suite and was already aggravated by the fact that it had taken him ten minutes to figure out the controls for the shower (or, as Reese thought of it, the all-in-one spa unit). He pulled on his black boxer briefs and searched until he found his pants. Pierce had crawled down out of bed (stumbling due to his soreness, much to Reese's satisfaction), and now he reached out and snatched the pants from him.

"Oh come on, I'll throw them out. We can get you a real suit. I'll just make a call and—"

"No. No! Give me that," growled Reese. He lunged onto the bed, knocking Pierce down onto it. Pierce threw the pants to the other side of the bed, laughing and catching Reese in a kiss.

"Mmm, noooo!" Pierce groaned. He touched the tip of Reese's nose. "You can't go. I ordered breakfast and you have to have these pancakes, they're coming all the way from—"

"Damn it, I don't want your goddamn pancakes!" Reese snapped, climbing atop Pierece and pinning him down by both wrists. "Would you just _stop_? You're rich, you're spontaneous and young, I _get that_! I am still not—"

"Not impressed?" Pierce guessed with a wide, toothy smile. "Mr. … John … is not impressed! It's going to be a meme."

Reese made a mental note to ask Finch what the hell a meme was later. He pressed Pierce down further into the luxuriously plush mattress. The man only grinned dreamily up at him.

"What is your last name, anyway? Your real one?" Pierce asked. He waited. "No?"

"No."

Pierce managed to lift his head enough to kiss the side of John's mouth sloppily. "Pancakes, though? You'll stay, right?"

Reese exhaled. This kid was a runaway train: he would not stop until he crashed. A part of him regretted having to be the force he smashed into, but it was necessary.

"Did you think this was going to be anything other than what it was, Pierce?" Reese asked. He climbed off of him and sat at the edge of the bed. His eyes went to his phone. "I came here to scare you off. That didn't work. So, I decided to give you a chance to … to get me out of your system."

Pierce hung over his shoulders. "You really think anyone could get _you_ out of their system after a night?"

Reese smiled a little: Finch had been right. His face flushed very lightly, as he realized what a hold he could get on people. He personally could not see what they saw in him. He was strong and dedicated, and he supposed people found him attractive, but if they had only seen him in the special forces … He wondered, would they be so willing to cuddle up to him then?

_It's fire, _Reese realized. _People like Finch, like Pierce, going their entire lives never being burned … Finch feels alive playing with fire. This one, Pierce, he … he plays with fire because he actually **enjoys** being burned a little._

"You're going to have to get me out of your system, Pierce," Reese said. He picked his phone up from the nightstand table. "That is, unless you want the entire world to see the real Logan Pierce. Not just half-naked in the street: every moment of last night."

Pierce fell back from him, though he still tried to smile. "You make a sex tape, huh?" He met Reese's eyes. "That's unexpectedly douchey of you."

"Oh, I didn't make anything." Reese dialed a number, and put it on speaker. "Are you awake?"

Finch's voice came on, "I'm here, Mr. Reese."

For the first time, Pierce was caught off guard. His mouth made to ask "who" but stayed in a small circle of confusion. He looked at Reese, who smiled coldly at him.

"And he has been here with us, _all night_," Reese informed Pierce. "He recorded everything."

"You mean he … he was … watching us?" Pierce laughed, though he sank back into the bed, unconsciously bringing the sheets around his naked body to cover himself. "Wow, that is seriously freaky. What is he, like, a voyeur? Or?"

"He's not _**like** _anything." Reese moved close in front of Pierce, who shrank further back. "_**He**_ is my partner, my **_only_** partner, in any way you can think of."

All trace of even feigned humor left Pierce's face. "You … played me?" He looked at Reese, finally hurt. "Everything last night was just part of this … set-up?"

Reese smiled cruelly. "Every. Last. Moment."

Pierce's bottom lip trembled. "But … But you enjoyed it, didn't you?" he persisted. "Right?"

Reese said nothing. _Please don't cry. I don't think I can take it if he cries._

Still, Reese went for blood. "My boss did not simply buy me," he said, taking Pierce by both shoulders. "Whatever you think you know about us, you don't. You don't know a single thing about who we are or what we do. You're clever, I'll give you that, but the fact remains that you are a spoiled, shallow, ridiculous man-child with no concept of real life, let alone the lives my partner and I lead."

Pierce searched his eyes for a trace of humanity, and found none. For the first time in a very long time, he was speechless. Even this close, there was no warmth between them anymore, not a single spark of anything human. The cynicism fell away, and the young man felt a stab of misery cut through him.

Reese flicked a hand through Pierce's hair. "Yes, I enjoyed you," he said. "I enjoyed taking you over and spanking your self-important ass raw. I enjoyed fucking you. You wanted me to enjoy myself, didn't you? To enjoy life more?"

Pierce inhaled indignantly, turning his face. Reese kissed the side of his face, and murmured in his ear, "Well, be careful what you wish for." He turned Pierce's face to his own by the chin. "Or, are you not happy that you got what you wanted, like you always, _always_ do?"

Pierce faced him, the last drudges of his arrogance flaring into a furious temper. "Fuck you, John."

John held up the phone. "No, I think it's fuck—" He played some of the footage from last night. "—_you_, Pierce. It's, what did you say last night? A new meme?"

Pierce eyed the video on the phone warily, shut his eyes. As he was shaking his head, John squeezed his shoulder and went to fetch his clothing. This time, Pierce did not stop him.

"So, release it to the internet," Pierce finally said, though his voice was thick. "Play it on every screen in Times Square. What do I care? I've been in scandals before. I love a scandal. So what?"

"Oh, I know you, Pierce," John said as he slipped into his pants. "You could care less about the entire world seeing you stripped and spanked. It would probably get you more sex, more adventures. It's this that I think you would mind."

He played audio from the video, setting the volume irritatingly high:

"_I'm desperate. You've made a desperate man of me, John. You think I'm cute and you think I'm sexy and you want me. That's been enough for most people. But you … I let you spank me, I throw myself at you, I analyze you more accurately than you expected (don't give me that look, you know I was pretty much right about what I said). Anyway, I do all that, and you're still just … just … looking at me like that! Damn it!"_

John clicked the sound off. "Emotional bankruptcy. See, I can use the armchair psychology routine as well as you can, Pierce." He stood before the bed, buttoning his shirt. "It wasn't so much the things you missed when your family lost everything. It was seeing your father broken. It was feeling the stigma of his _defeat_. It injured your pride, Pierce. You hated yourself for it, but you were disgusted with him."

John played more audio from the phone:

"_You … played me? Everything last night was just part of this … set-up?"_

"_Every. Last. Moment."_

"_But … But you enjoyed it, didn't you? Right?"_

Pierce flinched at the vulnerability in his own voice. He thought of the world listening to these clips, laughing at the sight of him brought down to the level of a groveling little bitch, making music videos and looping the choicest selections of footage again and again and …

"All right, just stop it, all right?" Pierce muttered when John was going to play more. He waved a hand. "Just … Just stop."

John smirked triumphantly, though his eyes were not without pity. He pocketed his phone, and finished tying his tie. "You'll stop pursuing us?"

"Yeah." Pierce frowned deeply, hating to give in. He ran an arm across his teary eyes, feeling cold and alone. The welts marking his backside were throbbing sharply now. "Yeah, I'll stop."

"Good boy." Reese kissed the remaining moisture from the corner of one of Pierce's eyes, and, in a moment of unusual empathy, gave him one last, lustful kiss goodbye.

Pierce sneaked in a second, fast kiss on the lips, but Reese stood again. His eyes begged the man for more, but Reese did not dare remain in his apartment another moment. He gave the youth a small smile, and swept out of the room. Pierce moved, but ultimately did not follow.

Pierce was vaguely aware that the pain should not be this severe after a (very enjoyable) one-night stand. Nonetheless, he sank back into bed, curling up beneath the double-layered Egyptian cotton sheets like a child. Sometimes, chemistry could not be predicted by or fit into any algorithm, no matter how sophisticated. Sometimes, you just _felt_ a match, so powerfully and suddenly it was like being struck by lightning. And he did feel that he and John had that connection. He _believed_ that they did.

Now, it was gone.

Pierce reached his hand over the spot where John had slept. It was cold now. He fought it, and then allowed the sorrow to wash over him. He hated himself, but he cried. He cried, and spitefully, angrily, considered his next move.

* * *

"How did it feel?"

Reese gave Finch an odd look, stooping to pet Bear behind the ears. " … Like putting down a puppy," he replied. He stood, wiping his hands on his coat. "What did it look like from all the way over here, Finch?"

"Like something I was grateful to not be on the other end of," Finch said, eyebrows raised. He added a slightly sullen, "For once."

Reese chuckled, coming over to Finch's desk and sitting on its edge. Finch looked up at him from his hair, his face unreadable as usual. Reese reached down and touched the side of his face.

"Did you watch everything, Harold?"

"Yes." Finch eyed Reese. " … Do you expect me to be jealous, Mr. Reese?" He turned his chair back to the monitor. "I wasn't jealous of you and Zoe, was I?"

"Zoe is a woman," Reese said. "I have never been with another man since meeting you, Finch."

"More of a child than a man, if you ask me," sniffed Finch. He glanced over the top of his glasses at Reese. "You don't love him."

"No," Reese said honestly. "He was fun, but I could never love someone that obnoxious. You may be rich and fussy, a little smug, but you're not spoiled."

"I couldn't very well manage to be with you here, could I?" Finch pointed out. He stood to face Reese. "I'm past the days of wanting fidelity, or any of the common things I once thought mattered at all. Yet, I somehow, selfishly, still do want your love. I do not deserve it, and I would not blame you if you did fall into love with someone else, but … "

Reese brushed his hand through Finch's hair. "But?"

"But please, Mr. Reese, not with Logan Pierce!" Finch exclaimed.

Reese laughed, as Finch turned pink. He drew the man close and kissed him.

"Feeling a little insecure after all, Harold?" he teased. "Hey. I love you. I'm not going to fall in love with Zoe or Logan Pierce, of all people. That's only sex. What we have is more than that."

"That's what scares me," sighed Finch. "It's easy for someone like Pierce to keep interest: he's young and attractive, and the sex is good. Likewise with Zoe, and she has feminine wiles to boot."

"Feminine wiles?" Reese echoed. "Rather old-fashioned of you."

"I say it as a compliment. I've enjoyed women in my time, too, you know," Finch said. "In any case, sex is easy for people like Zoe, Pierce, and you yourself, Mr. Reese. Love is the difficult thing to hold onto. And it horrifies me to think that I could lose you, and those two would still be there for you."

"You aren't going to lose me, Finch."

"No, don't make promises. We're both past promises, also," Finch said. He stared at Reese, touched a hand to his chest. "Just know that that is all I want from you, John. Only your love, for as long as I can have it."

"You have it, Finch. _Only _you."

Reese kissed him, and Finch smiled. Reese bent his face into the man's face and his mouth wrapped around his neck. Finch nestled his head into Reese's. Nonetheless, he glanced behind him at the computer screens.

_He may say so, but that doesn't mean I can't take precautions, _Finch thought. _I've come too far with Reese to not fight to keep him now. Zoe and Pierce may want him, but I **have** him._

_And I intend to keep him._

— END —


End file.
